Chapter 2 : Keeping up appearances.

Tony desperately tried to slide his key in the lock while McGee swayed ominously against him. It was a near thing but he managed to get them both into the apartment before his neighbors noticed.

As the door closed, Tony sighed dejectedly: his apartment was in a near perfect state of readiness just waiting for the beguiling presence of a certain young lady. It was not, however, prepared for the intrusion of a spaced-out NCIS agent who had ceased to be merry and was now looking decidedly seedy. Dumping McGee on the couch, Tony flipped out his cell. It was going to be a hard call to make. He had everything ready for the special meal his boyhood housekeeper had assured him would win the heart of any girl.

The connection clicked. "Ah, hi, it's me," Tony started. "Look I, ah, have to take a raincheck on that dinner." He knew she wouldn't be pleased. "No, no, not really work. One of my co-workers is a little under the weather."

He glanced up at McGee and was shocked to see his face had turned a sickly grey color, beads of sweat peppered across his upper lip. Dropping the phone, Tony hauled McGee bodily to the bathroom: there was no way his mint-fresh carpet was going to be an innocent victim. They made it by the finest of margins and Tony sank to the floor in relief as the jet stream was confined to porcelain and not wool. Suddenly he panicked: Jeanne was effectively lying on the lounge room floor dumped and abandoned. Swearing, he ran back for his cell.

"Ahh, sorry about; that: little gastro-intestinal emergency. Yes, I know you're a doctor but I really don't think you can do much for him at the moment." The thought of McGee randomly spurting personal information along with everything else was a little too much to bear.

Tony took the cell with him and found McGee moaning on the bathroom mat. Jeanne was still insistent, he stared to panic. "Look: I don't want this to be your first impression of him. I'll keep all the ingredients on ice. I promise. We'll do it all tomorrow."

McGee struggled up and grappled for the bowl again. Voice contact was lost along with McGee's stomach contents. When he had slumped face down on the floor again, Tony found Jeanne far more compliant. It was amazing what a decent sound effect could achieve. He flipped his cell shut and tucked it in his pocket.

Crouching to McGee's level, Tony noted the sweat soaking through his shirt. "Finished?"

"I think so," McGee groaned.

"Feel like a little lie down?"

"Yeah." McGee's eyes slid shut.

"Feel free to use my bathroom floor…"

Tony stood and looked down at the large body filling his tiny bathroom. It was like a blast back to his frat days with drunken students lying all over the place. He was so over that. McGee started to snore loudly: the sound reverberating around the walls. No woman, no useable bathroom: time for a movie.

An hour later, McGee appeared beside the couch under his own steam looking rumpled and pale but coherent. One side of his face was ingrained with the pattern of Tony's bathmat fibers.

"Ah, Tony?"

Tony reluctantly paused the movie in the middle of his favorite scene and looked up. "Yeah."

"What was I doing lying on your bathroom floor?"

"Wrecking the best date of my life."

"What?"

"You hungry?"

"Starving."

Tony shook his head and rose from the couch. "Have I got a dinner for you?"

"I did what!" McGee screeched. He was sitting at an intimately set dinning table watching Tony work in the kitchen.

"Yeah, it took three of us to get her free."

McGee hung his head in shame. "How am I ever going to face her in the morning?"

"Did I mention you proposed?"

McGee's head jerked up. "To Abby?"

"Not just her." Tony stopping cooking and counted off on his fingers: "Let's see: Gibbs, Ziva, Jimmy, Ducky and then Abby."

McGee squeezed his eyes shut in horror. "I didn't ask you?"

"No, and quite frankly: I'm hurt."

McGee massaged his temples. "Well if the other five turn me down, you'll be first on my list."

"That's all I ask." Tony smiled and went back to stirring his pot. "And you might want to avoid the Director for a while."

"Why?" McGee asked warily.

"Let's just say you commented on the size of her mammary glands and compared them to Abbys' and Ziva's."

"Just shoot me now."

"You did get in a good point about Ziva's sweater: even the Brady Bunch wouldn't be caught dead in it. But saying she wears Roy's orange hat because it's the only known accessory to match it, didn't go down too well."

McGee thumped his head on the table a few times until Tony took pity on him. "Nah, I'm making that last bit up."

McGee ceased his bashing and leveled a malevolent glare at Tony.

"Still hungry?"

"Yeah," McGee sighed the sigh of the damned. Tony slid a plate laden with a wondrous Italian masterpiece before him, the tantalizing aroma causing his stomach to growl impatiently. The culinary standard was a little wasted on him: he was so hungry he would have eaten cat food. McGee shot Tony a quizzical look. "You eat like this every night?"

"No, not at all."

Tony pulled out the fine red wine he had been saving for a special occasion and felt McGee's eyes on him expectantly. "Not for you," he said firmly tucking the bottle out of sight. "Ducky would kill me if I put anymore drugs into your body." At least he could save something for Jeanne.

Tony recognized he did not have McGee's full attention when his fork clattered to his plate, and he didn't pick it up again. He had been silent for a while but a closer inspection revealed that, although his empty hand was still up, McGee's eyes were closed and his head was slowly nodding on each deep breath. Tony moved the plate to one side and went to make up the couch. Then he remembered the frozen movie on the screen: he really wanted to watch that. An internal debate ensued and eventually he went into his own room and pulled down the covers of his bed.

By the time he returned, McGee was sound asleep, face down on the dinning table. Tony roused him slightly and led the groggy younger agent to the bed where he crawled in and curled up. He didn't even notice Tony gently removing his shoes and pulling up the covers.

The doorbell sounded unexpectedly and Tony raced for the door so as not to disturb his slumbering co-worker. He peeked though the spy-hole. "Jeanne?"

"I didn't feel like a raincheck."

"Oh."

Tony opened the door slowly and Jeanne maneuvered her way past him, frowning as she spied the remains of dinner for two on the table.

"Isn't that the famous dish your housekeeper taught you?" she accused inspecting the plates.

"It was a practice run."

"You're all alone?"

"Not exactly."

She looked at him, calculating what he could mean and then suddenly dashed for his bedroom. Opening the door she discovered a male lying in his bed. "Is there anything you wanted to tell me, Tony?"

--END--

Excuse the spelling, the spellchecker was fibrillating between Aussie and US.